Chapter 27

“You think you can teach me?”

Rickman’s eyes blazed as he stepped toward Agnes. A thin line of blood formed where his nail had scratched her cheek.

“So you’ve gotten a little too proud now that you’ll be Duchess of Vasteron. Do you really think the Duke will keep you by his side forever? A haughty, self-righteous, insufferable woman like you?”

He shouted furiously and reached out to grab her slender neck.

But before his hand could touch her, footsteps echoed from outside the door.

Rickman flinched and slowly pulled his hand back.

“Just wait. You’d better hope that man really is a monster, because only a monster could stand having someone like you around.”

With that final threat, Rickman stormed out of the room.

The heavy door slammed shut, and the moment the sound faded, Agnes’s strength gave way.

She was terrified.

She had tried to stay calm, to hide her fear and stand firm, but she couldn’t deny the truth. She was afraid.

For six years, Agnes had lived in complete obedience to Rickman. She had raised Noah because he told her to, met the people he wanted her to meet, and organized every event he demanded to perfection.

She had thought that was how things were supposed to be.

Rickman had paid the Everchen family a hefty price for her, and she believed she had to prove she was worth it.

Looking back now, those years felt utterly wasted, yet at the time she hadn’t known any better.

It was only after Noah lost his ability to speak that she finally realized how foolish she had been and defied Rickman for the first time.

And now, this was the second.

Agnes stared at her trembling hands, slowly curling them into fists, releasing, then tightening again. Thankfully, her fear of Rickman hadn’t grown strong enough to break her.

As she steadied her breathing, a polite knock sounded on the door.

Knock, knock.

That was all it took for her to know who was standing outside.

“I’ll be coming in.”

Before the person at the door could even turn the handle, Agnes quickly straightened up.

She didn’t want to look weak in front of Dylan.

She clasped her hands neatly in front of her and smiled as he stepped inside.

“Your Grace, thank you for keeping your promise.”

At her words of gratitude, Dylan pressed a hand to his forehead with a faint sigh.

“You asked me not to interfere, so I didn’t.”

He clearly hadn’t liked it, but he’d respected her wish.

Even when he noticed her trembling hands, he said nothing. Instead, he placed a gentle hand on her back and escorted her to the sofa. Thanks to him, she managed to sit down without revealing her unsteady legs.

The small act of care made her smile softly.

“You must have found it frustrating to just watch, yet you still did as I asked. Even though I failed to persuade Rickman.”

Despite everything, he had stayed by her side.

“You wanted to prove yourself. I had no wish to stop you.”

His tone was calm and simple, but to Agnes, that composure meant more than any compliment or comfort could.

Looking into his blue eyes, she murmured,

“Do you know? When I’m with you, I can’t help but sit up straighter.”

Whenever she was around him, Agnes wanted to be better. She didn’t want him to see her as pitiful. The easiest way to start was by fixing her posture.

Dylan smiled faintly.

“I feel the same.”

The unexpected answer widened her eyes. She was about to ask what he meant when his hand gently cupped her cheek.

He was looking at the scratch left by Rickman’s nails.

For a brief moment, she thought she saw a flicker of red in his clear blue eyes.

‘He’s just being kind. He’s always like this.’

Agnes pulled back slightly, covering the small wound with her hand.

“It’s nothing serious, really. It barely hurts.”

“The size of the wound doesn’t matter.”

His voice was cold as he called for an attendant to bring medical supplies.

Startled, Agnes waved her hands quickly.

“Your Grace, you don’t have to do this yourself. I can…”

But Dylan ignored her and soaked a piece of cotton with disinfectant. His intent was clear. He wasn’t going to step back.

His movements were surprisingly practiced, almost too natural for someone of his rank. It felt strange to see such a noble man tending to a wound with his own hands, and Agnes’s shoulders stiffened.

Of course, he had been on battlefields since youth. Injuries and treatment were nothing new to him. But his refined demeanor still made the contrast jarring.

Since the wound was shallow, he finished quickly.

“Thank you.”

She offered a quiet thanks and turned her face away, but his gaze didn’t leave her cheek.

“From now on, I’ll be the only one allowed to leave a mark on your body.”

The words sounded like a claim of ownership.

Yet coming from him, she knew it was his way of promising protection.

As expected, Dylan soon spoke again in his steady tone.

“Public opinion has already turned against Count Overhen. The trial will begin soon. We’ll expose how he built his fortune through illegal means and kept his servants in forced labor under threat.”

“Most nobles still treat their servants like property. Will that really matter?”

“The nobles might not care, but His Majesty will. The Emperor has been working to abolish slavery.”

His answer eased her worries.

“Instead of revealing everything at once, we’ll apply pressure slowly. We’ll make him pay heavy fines and compensations little by little. Eventually, he’ll give up custody himself to save what’s left of his wealth.”

“And if he refuses until the end?”

The light in Agnes’s golden eyes wasn’t fear. It was faith.

She never doubted Dylan’s success. She only wanted to know the path he would take.

But before he could answer, a noise from outside the room interrupted them. Voices, sharp and rising, carried through the door.

It wasn’t unusual at such a crowded banquet, but she clearly recognized one of them. Rickman’s voice.

Agnes glanced toward the door, then back to Dylan. He hadn’t answered her yet.

Instead, he extended his hand to her and asked quietly,

“Does that man love his son more than himself?”

Agnes placed her trembling hand in his and shook her head.

“No.”

“Then everything will happen exactly as you wish.”

Dylan raised her hand to his lips, brushed a kiss across her knuckles, and helped her stand. Agnes rested her hand on his arm as they left the room together.

In the ballroom, Rickman stood face-to-face with a middle-aged nobleman.

“I raised my daughter like a jewel! I’d never let her marry a cold-blooded man like you!”

“…I already told you, my lord, I have no romantic interest in your daughter. I merely spoke with her about a shared interest.”

“Enough of your excuses! I told you to stay away from her. Why can’t you just say yes and leave it at that?”

“Do you not realize how rude you’re being? Everyone here, tell me, is this proper behavior for a nobleman?”

Rickman turned, trying to rally support from the onlookers, but they all avoided his eyes or hid behind their fans. Not one person came to his defense.

The other noble’s temper might have been excessive, but everyone understood why he was angry.

His wife hadn’t cheated, hadn’t disgraced their name, hadn’t neglected her duties. Yet Rickman had cast her out of their home.

And now, after humiliating her publicly, he had the audacity to throw a marriage contract at her and demand she return obediently?

It wasn’t only cruel to his wife. It was an insult to her entire family.